


In Sickness and in Health

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abusive Grisha Yeager, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bad Dads, Carla is alive, Child Eren Yeager, Child Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Childhood Trauma, Doctor Grisha Yeager, F/M, Good moms, I don't understand history, Illnesses, Kuchel is dead but important, M/M, Most of the characters are sweet, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-11-12 09:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18008753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Illness plagues England and takes Levi’s mother, leaving him to perish with her. His will to survive drives him to the Jaegers' manor, the only family around with the means to feed an extra mouth. Carla Jaeger and their son, Eren, nurse the child back to health and plan to have the boy remain with them against Grisha's wishes. Happy to finally have a friend, two lonely children cause mayhem and merriment.





	1. At Dawn

He could see his breath and his fingers burned numbly. His nose ran and mucus and sweat mixed on his lip, tasting of salt. The air bit his pebbled fles, howling. He couldn't hear the chatter of his teeth over the rustling of leaves overhead. Stomach churning and chilled hands fumbling his grip on the suitcase, Levi Ackerman dragged himself down the muddied road. The cold and the rain made for an ironically fatal journey to the doctor, but the sickness spreading over England had left him no choice but to flee. “Something in the water,” physicians had said. “Something in the meat,” the people told. Everyone had their story of where the illnesses originated, but none of that mattered when people were rotting where others ate. They made their own deaths in their beds and their homes. Levi had, too. Keeping his late mother in her room because no one would come to take her body. Most had begun to burn the dead, but he couldn't; couldn't watch her rot and go up in smoke, couldn't drag her through town and into a pile of melting bodies to be dumped into the pig troughs. So, he ran away, as he usually would. His problems, his family, all left behind to haunt him. 

Whispers of refuge in the Jaegers’ household spread almost as quickly as illness. It was a fairytale, such an estate of accomplished nobles, where no dying soul dare lay foot; not even to beg. He was not smart enough to spare himself the trouble of keeping a corpse, but he was stupid enough to go where others would not. What a cheap contradiction. What a foolish boy. 

The road became more treacherous the farther he tread along. The trees grew crooked and the ground was sticky and wet. The path looked almost black with decaying foliage. He considered turning back, but he had nowhere to go. As he moved forward, swaying branches looking like shallow hands reached out to steal him from the moon’s light. They seemed to try and trap him deep in the shifting, ink-like darkness of the forest where his hollow mother loomed in wait. The rain, fog, and night worked against his imagination as he started to run, tripping over fallen logs and his own worn feet. The cry of an owl forced his hands to fly to his hair in fear, leaving his bag in the mud without a second thought. Twigs snatched at his clothes and snapped under his feet. His panicked pace finally slowed as a light peeked its way through the thinning treeline. It was warm and chased the image of his mother’s body back into the shadows. Knees shaking, he braved the rest of his trek with a turtle’s gait, his heart still racing. 

Reaching the clearing at last, Levi saw that Autumn had not been kind to the manor. Dead leaves caked the empty, cracked fountain. The grounds were unkempt and rotting. A few candles flickered in dusty windows, leaving much of the building in eerie darkness. Hedges reached out and snatched at his shivering limbs through his wet clothes. The world seemed to tilt as he lifted the heavy, gargoyle-esque knocker, flinching at the metallic sound that reverberated up his trembling arm. Quaking, he stumbled away, but the door didn't budge. He clutched at the hem of his shirt and waited, but not a grumble was given from the house. Frantic, he abandoned the knocker for a small, pale fist. He couldn’t stand being left outside, alone, for another minute. The banging was incessant, but he didn’t have the strength to be ashamed of his state. Hungry, cold, sick, and utterly disheveled, he found himself desperate for clean, warm shelter. He needed away from that town riddled with his mother's sunken face. He wanted safety, and maybe companionship wouldn't be too much more to ask for. 

Finally, a shout. A clatter sounded as someone inside scrambled with the locks. Levi felt close to collapsing at the first voice he heard, not to mention the second. An older man and woman, married. He couldn't move a muscle as the light of a small fire assaulted his eyes, disgruntled faces peering down at him from behind the door frame. They asked something, but he couldn't hear the words. His body might as well have been floating in a river made by the torrential downpour. Deaf and mute, he bathed in the sensation of being suspended blindly above his own body as he sank to the bricked pavement at the couple's feet. 

 

Fire didn't smell so rotten when it wasn't born from diseased human bodies, but the smoke still watered his eyes and choked him. He felt it coat his dry tongue like ash. He coughed feebly as he sat up in the canopied bed, his elbows sinking into the plush mattress and its fine quilts. Silk curtains lined the walls and stained the windows with red. White lace and fur covered the tables and seats. The heavy comforter hugged him, making his heart flutter and his chest blossom with a feeling of security. With such fine things surrounding him, Levi believed he was dead, or rather, dreaming. He doubted he'd earned the Gods’ good graces, as of late. No one did in times as dire as these. Silently, he scolded himself for being insolent to his hosts’ presence and hospitality. They most certainly had his blessings for taking in a little lost rat like himself, either from the kindness of their hearts or out of a responsibility to those less fortunate than themselves. 

Two men- one young and the other old- stood by the mantel of a grand fireplace centered in the wall opposite to that which the bed laid against, glancing at him and chatting amongst themselves. He heard glimpses of the fright he'd given the bespeckled gentleman and his wife as the story of his arrival was retold to their son. His breath rumbled in his ears and caused his hands to twitch. He balled his fingers into the soft duvet to hide his tremors. He was now more aware of himself, of his shame, of the tracks of hot tears down his cheeks. The two turned towards the sound of his quiet sniveling and froze, meeting his dizzy gaze with a wary knit to their brows. Everything seemed to still as he gazed into the youngest’s deep, forest green eyes. He didn't realize how close they had gotten, or that they'd moved at all until a hand settled gently on his bare and fevered shoulder. Lips moved, but he still heard nothing besides the constant growling of the inner workings of his battling organs. His stomach, heart, and head all screamed at once. The men over him looked to each other before the doctor left, taking off his glasses in a huff with the heavy door slamming shut behind him deafeningly. 

The boy seemed only a little older than Levi. He stayed by his side, wiping away the sweat beading on his brow and pushing away the matted raven locks from the pale forehead. Once the lovely, heated tan hands ran out of busying things to do, the boy sat at the table again. He scribbled away, and the faint sound of the pen scratching pierced the pulsating pain in Levi’s temples. It was a calming noise. The thick smell of ink brought his mind to a time of ease and comfort. He was nearly lulled back to sleep when the boy shook his shoulder. He startled weakly and shifted his eyes to follow the point of the boy's long finger. 

“I am Eren.” Levi wasn't educated, especially not in English writing; but, the sentence was simple enough for him to make sense of even in his feverish, muddled state. It helped that Eren patiently pointed to each letter he made the sound of. The paper was tapped again and the boy’s lips moved to sound out the words more fluently. “I am Eren.” Levi nodded, hoping that conveyed enough understanding for now. He felt so tired on his back, warmed under the dying evening light, fire, and quilts. 

 

Eren paced the carpeted floor. The sweating, ghostlike child in his bed worried him. Not for his own space, but for the other boy's survival. His father had told him not to touch him too much, but the way the small thing whimpered at him called his hands to those flushed cheeks, to that damp hair and forehead. His heart went out to the blurry, slitted silvers of his eyes. The way they wrenched a gut tightening sadness from his chest urged him against his father’s cautions. He didn't seem to understand anything they had said, aside from when Eren had written his name. The lack of lucid capability made him even more apprehensive to leave the boy's side. His mother was sure to lecture both him and his father for allowing such a sickly person to contaminate their home, but he also knew his mother had a large heart. She couldn't have turned away the young creature if she'd tried. A gasp from behind startled him, drawing his attention back to the child. Pulling the soaked duvet back, he could clearly see each rib on the small body as the boy's chest heaved. Greying and skeletal, if not for the erratic breathing that rattled his fragile frame, Eren could have thought the poor thing dead. He half expected a bone to pop through the thin skin like a quill tip through parchment, inking the paper with red. 

Each fit of coughing grew to sound more wet and ragged. Having been laid in such a way prevented the boy from draining any fluids that had built up in his lungs. His father had to have recognised such, but he hadn’t returned with medicine or to provide assistance, nor instruction. Eren had to take it upon himself to help the young child upright. Putting his hands under the shuddering, sweat slicked shoulders, Eren lifted the boy’s torso. As the child’s head rolled back limply, the fire light shone across his pale skin like the sun reflecting off the moon’s surface. Little cuts and bruises marred his bare flesh. He wandered at the boy’s life up until he stumbled upon their home and what he was doing out alone. What else was written into the small body? Curious as he was, he resolved himself to merely pile the pillows under the boy’s head to prop him up and to pull the blankets back to his chin. When the child woke, he’d have a chance to ask his many questions.


	2. The First Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the unannounced hiatus. I went back and refined the first chapter, so if you'd like, please check that out. Thank you for reading thus far, and I hope you enjoy.

A second night passed before Levi opened his eyes again. He felt out of place in his own body, gazing at the morning light that shone through the window and red curtains, painting the wood and carpet a brilliant auburn. The sheets clung to his back and peeled off slowly as he sat up. He was filthy, drenched in sweat and still caked with mud up to his knees. He noticed his shirt had been removed, and tried not to hide his naked chest behind the quilt like a woman when the door opened. He watched a wild mop of chocolate colored hair bounce away and down the hall. Levi leapt off the bed, seeing his mother’s top drying on a rack by the fire, but his legs were too weak and weighed by sleep to hold him, so he sunk to his knees. It felt as if a week had passed since he’d been on his own two feet, and the carpet was almost as soft at the bedding. 

When the doctor and son entered the room, it was to find him in a heap on the floor, fists closed around the fibers of the rug. Clenching and smoothing his fingers in wonderment, Levi turned his head to press his nose to the perfumed carpet like a curious housepet. Eren tried to rush to the boy’s side but his father shouted, grasping his shoulder with a heavy hand. Both boys jumped in surprise. Bewildered by his father’s harshness, Eren tried once again to reach the fumbling, confused child, but Grisha yanked him aside by his collar, screaming, “No son of mine shall catch their death from the likes of such a rodent!” Levi flinched back, and thought of how he’d found the doctor’s voice as close to angelic as he could when he’d first arrived. Now, it carried such anger, repulsion, and maybe even fear. “He’s infected, you fool of a child.” Eren had thought it was impossible for the smaller boy to grow even more pale, but those thoughtless words turned his pallor from white to grey in an instant. “I gave you specific instructions to leave him be, and you stayed here all night? How dare you disobey me!” 

Luckily, all the noise had drawn his mother to the scene. She bustled past her husband and son without a second thought to pick up the trembling child as his wide eyes brimmed with tears. She whispered soothingly into his ear before he could cry, “Oh, now look at you. Such beautiful eyes, and on such a pretty little boy. We were beginning to wonder when you’d open them for us. What is your name?” Eren had stopped fighting his father’s hold to listen, eager to learn what he could call the boy other than just that. 

His voice was small and laced with the roughness of sleep and his violent coughing, but it was music to Eren’s ears. “Levi.” A rude introduction, but he could forgive it. He was reminded that Levi had come from town; closer than others, but still a great distance away, even by carriage. He had walked alone, at night, and in the cold during a storm. Eren celebrated his mother’s bravery to touch and console the poor, dirty boy. The closer she got, however, the more his father vibrated with indignation. It was as if the mere sight of the fevered young man brought shame on the doctor. He couldn’t comprehend why Grisha would be so upsetted by the very thing making his work possible and necessary. Silly as it seemed to the son, his father’s anger scared the other boy, who cowared in Eren’s mother’s gentle hands. 

“Carla! You put him down, this instant!” Grisha’s chest puffed in anticipation for his wife to argue, but deflated soon after. Carla refused to even lift her eyes away from Levi. 

“Can you tell me what brought you to our doorstep in your condition?” She caressed Levi’s messy hair, smoothing it back with a little smile on her face. His cheeks flushed with more than the fever, and his eyes brightened slightly at her welcome touch. Grisha interrupted their moment with his rash berating. Eren had to wonder what the boy had done to earn so much resentment from his father. 

“His condition is deplorable. The same as the rest of that bloody town. I can tell you exactly what a pest like him is here for, and I will not accept having him in this house any longer!” Carla faced her husband with disapproval, still petting the weakly coughing lad. Something in Eren’s heart leapt when he heard Levi’s stomach growl through the pause in Grisha’s spouting. His mother must have noticed the hungry grumble as well, because she carried the boy just outside the doctor’s reach before passing Levi off to a maid. 

“Dress him before you bring him to the table, please.” The redhead bowed to Carla before picking Levi up from under his arms to settle him on her hip. “Thank you, Isabel.” A small bow and curtsy with a mumbled, “Yes, Ma’am,” and the maid left. Sensing that his parents were moments away from a spat, Eren excused himself. Just before his bedroom door shut, he heard the harsh smack delivered to his mother’s cheek. He knew better than to intervene, but his blood boiled at the image of her head snapped to the side by the back of his father’s hand. He just wished that one day she would hit him back. 

Her hair, a dark chestnut color, fell from her bun and over her face in whisps. She kept her mouth shut as his hand shook between them. He retracted his hand and ran it through his black locks. How had she come to be the wife of such a weak man? “This is my house.” Even his voice wavered, and Carla didn’t have to look to see that his eyes were wide with fright. “I will not have a diseased rat scurrying alongside our child, nor will I allow you to endanger my son.” It made her chest flare with rage to hear him refer to Eren as “his.” The fact that Grisha was being irrational did nothing to calm her. 

“The boy has a cold.” Something as simple as knowing the difference between plague and neglect was painful to state to the doctor. A practiced physician, and her husband couldn’t tell that the younger boy wasn’t dying of Cholera. Malnourishment and the wet and cold were the only culprits for Levi’s cough and withering form. For Grisha to fall victim to such gossip as the disease being contagious, when he himself had told her during the last outbreak two years prior that it was not, made her question whether his age was beginning to affect his memory. “He needs warm food, clean water, and shelter. Eren needs a friend, as well.” She rubbed her stinging face as she turned away from him, ashamed to see her husband quiver at the raise of her own hand. “You are not to speak that way in front of the children again.” Neither mentioned the assault. They never did. Grisha knew better than to argue when Carla was so visibly cross with him, and took his leave of their son’s room. As he was leaving, however, he muttered, “You are not to speak to me as if that boy is our own.” 

 

Levi didn’t think he’d ever seen such clean water before, or felt such soft towels. As Isabel ruffled his hair in one, they both giggled at the way it made him wiggle on his feet to keep his balance. She wasn’t as gentle as Eren’s mother, but more sister-like. She made jabs at how gangly he was and laughed with him over his fascination with soap bubbles. He played with her wild red spikes of hair when she let down the buns behind her ears, and they made crowns for each other out of the foamed suds. The clothes folded over her arm were perfectly crisp, and felt nice over his raw skin as she buttoned up the trousers and shirt. As embarrassing as it was to be bathed and dressed by a stranger, she acted as if it was the most natural thing for her to do, which put him at ease. She did most of the talking, and made plenty of jokes at both of their expenses, but all in a good natured way. She didn’t mention how clouded and dirty the water became, or pluck rudely at the matted tangles in his hair. Instead, she asked if he’d like a haircut after refreshing the water and letting him rinse himself off. 

Isabel sat him in a chair and picked up a pair of scissors, asking him to lean over a cloth to catch his hair, and he couldn’t stay still. He was nervous and excited at the same time, wondering what she would do with the tangled mess. Dark, almost blue strands rained around his shoulders in chunks, catching the sunlight from the circular window above the tub. Isabel was more quiet during this task, so he busied himself with his fingers, teasing at the stitching in the fine pair of pants. When she finished, he trotted to the round mirror hung in between two paintings of the sea. He remembered aged portraits of his great grandfather over their ever cold hearth, and thought he could look like that man if he had a beard. He spun to face the maid when she called him to the open door for lunch, his stomach gurgling again at the promise of food. 

The walls were a deep, velvet red, lined with sconces and tall candelabras. The glow of light didn’t quite reach the floor but, as it was the middle of the day, the large windows lining one side of the hall made up for it. Long carpets were cast a brighter shade of crimson and gold, the jacquard pattern standing out in the sunlight. Selling just a square of that fabric could feed him for a week. The decorations hung on the walls and covering the short tables pushed under the windows could last him a year. 

When they entered the dining room, Isabel announced his arrival and excused herself to her other chores. Levi’s nose itched at the mixing scents of seasoned bread and the spices in the steaming broth and beef. Willing his eyes not to water, he hesitantly stepped closer to the candle lit food. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw fresh meat, and wondered if they hunted for it on the property. 

Eren sat to the right of Grisha, his mother at the other end, motioning to the chair at her left for him to take. The room and table were so long it felt odd to sit on opposite ends. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful and was too eager to bite into the meal to question the seating arrangement. The father seemed very uncomfortable with scum like him sitting at his table, eating his food. Carla and Eren held no resentment for him, as far as he could tell. Still, it was unnerving to try and keep from angering the old man when he didn’t know what he’d done to earn his ireful stare in the first place. They had so much to share, he didn’t understand why he felt so guilty for the small portion served in front of him. But, a silent mouse, even only picking at crumbs, is considered a pest. 

Eren was the first to break the silence and grant Levi reprieve from the awkward tension, smiling at the boy and gesturing to the dishes. “Please, eat. You don’t need to wait for permission, Levi.” He enjoyed saying the boy’s name, watching as Levi’s face lit a healthier pink. He had seemed much better after his bath and the promise of a decent meal. Carla urged Levi to eat, too. Eren noticed his father, however, sat entirely still and silent. He stared at the boy with growing disdain. 

Just as his mouth opened to say something offensive, no doubt, his wife smiled and said, “Levi, would you mind telling us a little bit about yourself, now? I’m sure I’m not alone in being morbidly curious of your reasons for running so far from home.” It felt a bit sudden to Levi for them to start talking about this, but Isabel had told him how long he’d been unconscious, and he couldn’t blame the family for wanting answers. 

“I don’t have a home anymore.” Eren thought it was an inappropriate start to their dinner conversation, but couldn’t find it in himself to change the topic. He’d been full to bursting with questions watching the young boy fitfully sleep the night before last, and his curiosity had only grown since. “You know about the plague?” Everyone at the table nodded, even Grisha. “Well, my mother...” Levi had trouble getting the words out, clearing his throat of the lump of emotion bundled in the back of it. It didn’t help that complete strangers were staring at him, hanging on the edge of their seats for the story. But, it was more than that, to him. “My mother is dead. I couldn’t take care of myself, and no one in town could take me in. So, I came here.” Head hung, Levi waited for the old man at the other end of the table to erupt. Grisha’s face was red enough to suggest he was close to doing so. 

Eren wasn’t used to such short answers. Usually questions like that warranted the teller’s life story, and then some. Levi’s small voice and hunched form put an ache in his veins similar to the one he’d felt when he heard his father’s palm hit his mother’s face. Grisha might as well have read his mind, because he felt the need to reassert himself with a gruff, “Liar.” Carla’s silverware clattered against her plate loudly in response to her husband’s outburst. “You’re just seeking pity from my wife and son, you leech.” 

“Grisha! You leave the boy alone, now.” The parents continued to quarrel back and forth from opposite sides of the room while the children pretended not to hear any of it. Eren would wait until night came to find the time to talk to Levi more decently. He could be patient, but watching the smaller boy fidget while staring off at the wall was hard. It looked like he had remembered something unpleasant. More and more questions gathered in Eren’s mind.


End file.
